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With the rest of his classes starting back up again, West knew he would have to get some drum practice in sooner rather than later. As fun as music class had been for him the first time, it hadn't escaped his notice that those students who failed to amuse Professor Blue in one way or another ended up being forced to do much less favorable things than bang on drums all day.

In what was perhaps a fitting move, considering the sort of demon he was, West thought it would be best to bring his snare drum out into the demon dorm common room rather than keep all of the incredibly loud noise to himself while others tried to sleep or study. That was where he was now, trying to balance the drum on its stand so he could actually play it. It seemed his success at setting it up the only other time he had tried had been blind luck.

"Hmm?" It took West a couple of seconds to look up from where he had somehow managed to remove a tiny screw from the underside of his drum. It lay in his palm now, or at least it had until he tossed it onto the floor.

"Oh 'ey," he said, raising the same hand slightly to wave at Barth. "Yeah, almost. What're you doin'?" 'Walking' or 'breathing' seemed like probable replies. Didn't the other boil have scads of marked monsters to take care of anything else that might have needed doing?

Contracts... ran out? They could do that? West muttered something that sounded like it had to do with his parents, Yaya and a mysterious bear attack, all while continuing to stab the snare onto its stand. When it didn't seem to be any closer to sticking after a half a minute he dropped it onto a nearby chair instead.

"Not strenuous?" he said with a smirk. "Bringgit over'ere so we can practice t'gether then." He continued smiling faintly. West didn't have a problem helping Barth carry the stupid tuba, he just wasn't going to do so unless he was asked. Or he lost his patience. He sighed and tapped his foot irritably, his next words back in muttering territory. Patience lost. "Y'want me t'help? Dun worry, I won'mark ya."

West grunted and nodded sharply before approaching the tuba. He lifted the instrument with a minimum of effort and carted it over to what he perceived to be the softest-looking piece of furniture in the room, setting it down rather gently.

He appeared to have missed Barth's next statement at first, but when he looked up, it was clear West had heard him after all. His eyes were narrowed but he didn't seem angry, he just appeared to be thinking very hard. While not as eager to dedicate his life to groveling and servitude as Christof seemed to be, West had a certain desire to... do a good job, for lack of a better way to put it, and that included getting everyone out of perilous situations alive, even if he had to carry them and even if he got nothing in return. The fact that he had never marked anyone before ran a distant second to overall survival on his list of Reasons Why He Hadn't Tried to Mark Barth. Right?

But what to tell him? West might have felt a sympathetic sort of kinship with the other avarice demon, but that didn't mean he wanted to admit he was some sort of pansy marking virgin. It also didn't mean he wouldn't hesitate to injure Barth if he made fun of him for it. West made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sigh. What the hell. Either Barth wouldn't react at all or there would be punching opportunities. Both of those outcomes sounded favorable.

"I dun like markin'," he said with a shake of his head. "Meanin' I never dunnit. Wouldn't wanna make someone's head explode if I diddit'rong." He chuckled in earnest this time, his next words said mostly to himself. "Actually, tha'might be kinda fun."

Curious? Yes, he had been, which is how he had ended up in a very itchy five-month-long termless deal with Yaya. But West supposed Barth was asking if he had any curiosity about giving marks, not receiving them. He shrugged.

"N'really?" He held up a fist. "I dun'ave problems gettin' people t'do what I want." His hand dropped to the drumsticks jutting from his pocket and he grabbed one, yanking it out and smacking it against the drum in one smooth motion. "Nice." Not as loud as the ridiculous number of cymbals he had lying around his room would have been, but just jarring enough.

Essential? Hm. Was their necessity just a sloth thing or was West truly missing out on something indescribable, something that defined demonhood in a way he couldn't understand? No, that hadn't been what Barth had said at all. West frowned. Fine. Maybe he was curious. Well, he wasn't going to admit that now.

"Guess I've wondered what m'mark looks like," he said half under his breath. "Jus'seems like somethin' I should know." Totally smooth.

"It is?" West blurted out before bothering to think about what Barth had said. Was there some sort of way to go into a meditative trance while holding a pen and wake up to find that you had drawn your mark? Probably not. Maybe it was on record somewhere, like his baby footprints. But that would mean asking his parents to get it for him, which he really didn't want to do.

West pulled a second drumstick out of his pocket and sat down in front of his newly renovated snare drum. He began to softly tap at it, trying to keep up some sort of simple rhythm.

"How would I go 'bout doin' that? If I was in'rested?"

West stopped playing, his features twisting into a minor grimace of distaste. He really didn't want to be marked again, even for just a minute. Still, now that this can of worms had been opened, it was crawling all over his insides, making his stomach fluttery with what he would have called butterflies if he had been a ten-year-old ghoul.

"Hmm. Sounds'likeit." West didn't say anything for a while after that, but he continued to shift in his seat, tap at the drum in front of him, sigh, and look around guiltily like a child with a mild case of ADD. Finally, "Easy'nuff for you... to do? Maybe?"